Hero Of Broken History

The Thornwick warehouse squatted in the industrial district like a toad that had eaten something disagreeable and was contemplating whether to vomit or explode. Three stories of brick and bad decisions, surrounded by enough warding to make Avian's teeth ache from fifty feet away.

"Subtle," Kai murmured from their vantage point on a neighboring roof. "Nothing says 'legitimate business' like enough death magic to choke a horse."

"The protagonist senses dramatic potential!" Leontis whispered excitedly, somehow managing to whisper dramatically. "Look at how the fog clings to the walls! The ominous shadows! The—"

"The sixteen guards pretending to be drunks and beggars," Avian interrupted, cataloging threats automatically. "Two on the roof playing cards. Three more inside the loading dock. And unless I'm mistaken, that's a bone construct under a tarp in the alley."

Fucking amateurs. At least TRY to hide your undead murder machines. What's next, a sign saying 'Definitely Not Evil Here'?

Seren, crouched beside them with her notebook, scribbled frantically. "This level of security for a simple meeting? What exactly are they delivering?"

"Nothing good," Avian said. "The cipher mentioned 'specimen delivery.' Could be bodies, could be artifacts, could be—"

"Could be the friends we make along the way!" Leontis interjected.

Everyone turned to stare at him.

"What? The protagonist is trying to lighten the mood before intense action!"

I'm going to throw him off this roof. See if he narrates his own falling death. 'The protagonist plummets dramatically, cape billowing with narrative significance!'

"Here's the plan," Avian said, forcibly returning to the matter at hand. "We need information, not a bloodbath. Kai, you and Leontis create a distraction at the front. Draw some guards away. Seren and I will—"

"I'm going in there?" Seren's voice climbed an octave. "I'm a historian! I catalog violence, I don't participate in it!"

"You decoded their cipher. You know their language patterns better than anyone." Avian tried for reassuring. "Plus, you wanted field experience for your research."

"Field experience means observing from a safe distance! With tea! And no one trying to turn me into an undead servitor!"

"No one's going to turn you into—"

A carriage rumbled around the corner, and everyone ducked lower. Not just any carriage – this one screamed wealth with every gold-trimmed inch. The horses were midnight black, probably cost more than most houses, and someone had actually gilded the fucking wheels.

Oh good. Rich assholes. Because this wasn't complicated enough already.

The carriage stopped at the warehouse's main entrance. Guards snapped to attention as the door opened, and out stepped—

"Goldus Merchantius," Kai hissed. "That persistent bastard."

The merchant looked even more ridiculous than before. New robes that seemed to be waging war with the concept of color coordination. Rings on every finger, including his thumbs. And was that a crown? No, just a hat that had delusions of grandeur.

"Lord Goldus!" A figure emerged from the warehouse – tall, gaunt, wearing robes that had seen better centuries. "Such an honor. The Elder is most pleased with your continued support."

The Elder's here? Tonight? Well, fuck my life sideways with a rusty spoon.

"The Elder himself?" Goldus practically vibrated with excitement. "I thought he never attended deliveries personally!"

"Special circumstances. The recent... unpleasantness has made certain precautions necessary." The gaunt man's eyes swept the surroundings. "The loss of Wilhelm was unfortunate."

"Yes, very sad, I'm sure he's torturing souls in a better place," Goldus said dismissively. "But about my request—"

"The Elder will discuss it inside. If you'll follow me?"

They disappeared into the warehouse, guards closing ranks behind them.

"Change of plans," Avian muttered. "If the Elder's actually here..."

"We leave," Seren said immediately. "We leave right now and come back with an army. Or several armies. All the armies."

"She has a point," Kai admitted. "The intelligence suggested maybe a handler, some mid-level death mancers. Not the five-hundred-year-old death magic legend himself."

They're right. Smart move is to pull back, gather more intel, come back prepared. Be tactical. Be careful. Be intelligent.

...

Fuck that. He might have information about my body.

"We're going in," Avian decided. "But carefully. Very carefully."

"Define carefully," Kai said suspiciously.

"We don't all die."

"That's a terrible definition!"

"The protagonist approves of this suicidal bravery!" Leontis beamed. "Chapter Thirty-One: In Which Our Heroes Face Certain Death!"

"We're on chapter thirty," Seren corrected automatically.

"I'm planning ahead!"

Avian stood, checking his equipment one more time. Fargrim hummed with anticipation, the blade practically purring at the prospect of violence. Lux sparked eagerly in her ring form, ready to materialize at a thought.

"Same plan. Kai, Leontis, you're the distraction. Make it loud, flashy, but not immediately threatening. I want half those guards chasing shadows." He turned to Seren. "You're with me. We find their records room, copy everything we can, get out before—"

"Before the ancient death mancer turns us into decorative corpses?"

"Ideally, yes."

She clutched her notebook like a shield. "I'm going to die. I'm going to die and they'll reanimate me and I'll spend eternity as an undead secretary."

"You won't die," Avian promised. "I need you alive to document this disaster."

"Oh, how reassuring!"

But she was gathering her courage, he could see it. The same drive that made her steal from Church archives was overcoming her very reasonable fear of horrible death.

"Positions," Avian ordered. "Give us five minutes, then start your show."

Kai nodded, already pulling out various alchemical surprises from his many pockets. Leontis was practically glowing with anticipation, lute at the ready.

Avian led Seren around to the building's east side, where shadows gathered thickest and the wards felt weakest. Up close, the warehouse's corruption was even more obvious. The very bricks sweated something that wasn't quite moisture, and the air tasted like copper and old graves.

"Second floor window," he murmured. "Past the ward line. Can you climb?"

"I'm wearing a dress!"

"It's a very practical dress."

"It has ruffles!"

"Tactical ruffles."

She glared at him, but hitched up her skirts with the efficiency of someone who'd clearly done this before. "If we die, I'm haunting you."

"Get in line."

Literally. I've got five hundred years worth of ghosts who'd love to have words. Though most of them just want to buy me drinks and swap war stories.

The climb was easier than expected. Whoever designed the warehouse's defenses had focused on the ground level, assuming threats came from people who used doors like civilized folks. The window was locked, but that lasted about three seconds against Avian's lockpicks.

They slipped inside, finding themselves in what looked like an administrative office. Dusty, neglected, and blessedly empty of death mancers or their experiments.

"Records room would be..." Avian oriented himself. "Third floor, probably. Near the Elder's workspace but not too close. These types like their bureaucracy organized."

"How do you know that?"

"Pattern recognition. Death cults love their paperwork. You'd be amazed how many fell apart because someone forgot to file the proper forms for their apocalypse."

They crept through darkened hallways, following the increasing concentration of death magic like the world's worst breadcrumb trail. The building's interior was a maze of modifications – walls knocked through, new passages carved, architecture that had given up making sense.

Then the explosions started.

Even muffled by walls and distance, Leontis's distraction was impossible to miss. Bright flashes of light painted shadows on the walls. Guards shouted. Someone screamed about their eyebrows.

"THE PROTAGONIST DEMANDS SATISFACTION!" Leontis's voice carried clearly. "YOU HAVE INSULTED MY HAT!"

"What hat?" a guard yelled back.

"EXACTLY! THE INSULT OF ITS ABSENCE!"

I take it back. I'm not throwing him off a roof. Kid's got style.

More guards ran past beneath them, heading for the commotion. Avian counted footsteps, calculating how many remained. Still too many, but better odds.

This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

They reached the third floor via a servant's stair that hadn't seen actual servants in decades. The death magic was thick enough here to make breathing feel like swallowing tar. Seren had gone pale, one hand pressed to her stomach.

"You okay?"

"Just my Mana Heart complaining," she whispered. "It doesn't like this much corruption."

"Stay close. It gets worse before it gets—" He stopped. "Actually, it just gets worse."

The hallway ahead glowed with sickly light. Through an open door, they could see it – the records room. Shelves packed with scrolls, books, preserved samples in jars that definitely contained things better left unidentified.

Also, three death mancers bent over a table, discussing something in low voices.

Of course. Because why would anything be easy? Next time I'm bringing more explosives. Solve problems the fun way.

He gestured for Seren to stay back, then crept closer to listen.

"—Elder says the divine resonance is increasing," one was saying. "Our contact in the Church is getting nervous. Says they can't maintain the containment much longer."

"Good. Do you know how hard it is to maintain a stasis field on something that powerful? I've been burning through preservation salts like candy."

"Better than what happened to Marcus. Did you see what was left after the field collapsed?"

"See it? I had to clean it up. You ever try mopping up liquefied flesh? It gets in the grout."

Church contact? So the corruption goes both ways. Interesting.

The third mancer, who hadn't spoken yet, suddenly straightened. "Did you hear something?"

"Just the idiots downstairs dealing with intruders."

"No, this was..." He turned toward the door.

Shit.

Avian moved. Not the careful stealth from before, but the kind of speed that turned physics into a suggestion. The first mancer dropped before he could scream, Fargrim's pommel introducing his temple to unconsciousness. The second managed half a syllable before Avian's hand found his throat, precise pressure dropping him like a puppet with cut strings.

The third actually got a spell off – a bolt of necrotic energy that would have melted flesh from bone if it had connected. But Avian was already moving, gravity making the projectile heavier, slower, easier to dodge. His counter-strike took the mancer in the solar plexus, driving breath and consciousness out in one efficient motion.

"How?" Seren stood in the doorway, notebook clutched in white-knuckled hands. "They were all trained mages, and you just—"

"Practice. Help me tie them up."

They worked quickly, using the mancers' own robes to bind and gag them. Avian propped them in a corner where they looked like they might be napping. If you squinted. In bad light. While drunk.

"Now the fun part," he said, surveying the records room properly. "We have maybe ten minutes before someone checks on them. Grab anything that looks important."

"Everything here looks important! And horrible! Is that a pickled brain?"

"Probably. Focus on recent documents. Anything mentioning divine energy, specimens, or Church contacts."

They ransacked the room with the desperate efficiency of people who knew death was counting down. Seren's trained eye picked out significant documents faster than Avian could have managed. Her notebook filled with copied passages, quick sketches of diagrams, references to file locations.

"Oh my," she breathed suddenly. "Oh my god."

"What?"

She held up a ledger, finger pointing to an entry. "Specimen 001. Original acquisition." Her voice dropped to barely a whisper. "But look at this - the acquisition details are completely fabricated. Date listed as day after the Demon King's defeat, but the location..." She cross-referenced with another document. "The location keeps changing in different records. Battlefield, throne room, medical tent - it's all lies."

They never had my body. It's all been bullshit from the start.

"And here," she continued, flipping pages. "Five hundred years of supposed 'research' on Specimen 001, but the descriptions never match. Different heights, different wounds, different preservation states. Every new member for the past five centuries has to view 'Specimen 001' as part of their initiation, but they're seeing different bodies."

"They're using fakes."

"Multiple fakes, from the look of it. The Elder's been showing different bodies to different people, claiming each one is the real Demon King for five hundred years." She looked up at him. "He's built his entire authority on a lie. No one else knows what the real body looked like because it was left in the demon king's castle, so he can present any preserved corpse and call it authentic."

Smart bastard. Build your reputation on having something nobody can verify. The body's probably still rotting in that castle.

More explosions from below. Kai and Leontis were really selling their distraction. But soon someone would realize it was just that – a distraction.

"Five more minutes," Avian decided. "Then we—"

The temperature dropped twenty degrees in an instant.

"Well, well." The voice came from the doorway. Old, amused, and powerful enough to make reality hiccup. "Mice in my records room. How delightfully predictable."

The Elder stood there like death's favorite uncle. Average height, average build, robes that had seen better centuries. But the power rolling off him made Avian's teeth ache and his Mana Heart skip beats.

"Though I must admit," the Elder continued, "you lasted longer than expected. Most triggered the third ward. You made it all the way to the fifth before I noticed. Impressive for a child."

Oh fuck. This was a trap. The whole thing was bait.

"Not a child," Avian said, hand on Fargrim's hilt. "Just short for my age."

"Ah, humor! Delightful. Tell me, boy, did you really think I'd leave my records so poorly guarded? That I'd attend a meeting personally without ensuring proper... entertainment?"

Death magic began seeping from the walls like poisonous sweat. The unconscious mancers twitched, then rose jerkily, power animating them like meat puppets. Their eyes opened, showing nothing but green-black corruption.

"Run," Avian told Seren. "Window. Now."

"But—"

"NOW!"

She ran. The puppets moved to follow, but Avian was already there, Fargrim singing its murder song. The blade carved through the first puppet, and he felt a moment of satisfaction as it dropped properly dead.

Then the pieces started moving independently.

Oh, come the fuck on. Dismemberment is supposed to solve problems, not create them.

The second puppet's arm, now freed from its body, tried to strangle him. He kicked it away, dodged the third puppet's grab, and decided strategy was overrated.

"Lux!"

Lightning exploded from his ring, taking wolf form mid-strike. She hit the puppet mass like divine judgment, electricity turning dead flesh into ash and bad smells. The Elder actually stepped back, eyebrows rising.

"A spirit wolf? My, my. You're just full of surprises."

Avian didn't waste time on banter. He sprinted for the window where Seren waited, pale and terrified but still there.

"Jump!"

"It's three stories!"

"I'll catch you!"

"That's not how physics—"

"JUMP!"

She jumped. Or fell. Or performed some combination of the two that involved a lot of flailing and a small scream.

Fuck fuck fuck. Never practiced catching historians. Why didn't I practice catching historians?

Avian reached out with his gravity magic, pouring more power than necessary into the working. The air beneath her went from normal to molasses-thick to nearly solid. She slowed like she'd hit invisible cushions, and he managed to catch her with only moderate internal organ rearrangement.

"Ow," she wheezed.

"Sorry. Still calibrating the historian-catching spell."

He set her down and turned back to see the Elder watching from the window, looking more amused than upset.

"Go," Avian told Seren. "Find the others. I'll hold him off."

"Are you insane? He's five hundred years old!"

"And I'm very motivated. Go!"

She went, clutching her notebook and probably several bruised ribs. Avian faced the warehouse, watching the Elder descend through the air like gravity was optional.

"You know," the Elder said conversationally, "most people run at this point."

"Most people don't have questions."

"Oh? And what burning curiosity keeps you here?"

"The Church contact. You're working with someone inside the Church hierarchy. Someone with enough divine power to maintain magical containment."

The Elder's smile widened. "Clever boy. Yes, we have an understanding with certain progressive elements. They fund research, we share discoveries. Everyone benefits."

"Even the test subjects?"

"Well, they benefit posterity. Their suffering advances human knowledge. Very noble, really."

This sanctimonious fuck. Trying to dress up torture as scientific progress.

"You're pathetic," Avian said flatly. "Five hundred years old and you're still playing with corpses like a child with dolls. Pretending you have some grand purpose when really you're just a sad old fuck who can't accept his own mortality."

The Elder's smile vanished. "Careful, boy."

"Or what? You'll kill me? Torture me? Bore me with another speech about the nobility of suffering?" Avian let his disgust show. "You're not even a good death mancer. Having to fake having the body because you never had the balls to get the real one? That's just embarrassing."

"The body was sealed in—"

"In the Demon King's castle, yeah. And you were too much of a coward to go get it yourself. Had to wait five hundred years pretending you had it while showing random corpses to your idiot followers." Avian grinned at the fury building in the Elder's eyes. "Five hundred years of lies and you're still a scavenger. A bottom-feeder. A wrinkled old fuck who got outsmarted by a twelve-year-old."

Wait. That insult only works if I'm actually twelve. Which... technically I'm not. Shit. Hope he doesn't think about that too hard.

The Elder's power exploded outward, death magic thick enough to kill lesser beings by proximity. "You dare—"

"THE PROTAGONIST HAS ARRIVED TO SAVE HIS SUPPORTING CAST!"

Leontis burst around the corner, lute already singing with combat magic. Kai followed, throwing alchemical bombs that exploded in clouds of silver dust. Anti-necromantic powder, from the way the Elder flinched back.

"Tactical retreat!" Kai shouted. "Now!"

Avian didn't need to be told twice. He turned and ran, Lux bounding beside him. Behind them, the Elder's roar of fury shook windows three blocks away.

They regrouped six blocks from the warehouse, in an alley that smelled like old cabbage and poor life choices.

"That went well," Kai panted.

"We're alive," Avian pointed out.

"The bar for success is so low it's underground," Seren wheezed, still clutching her notebook.

"But we got what we came for," Avian said. "Information about the fake bodies, the Church connection, and—"

"And now we have a five-hundred-year-old death mancer who wants us super dead," Kai finished.

"He wanted us dead before. Now it's just personal."

"The protagonist found the experience invigorating!" Leontis declared. "The dramatic escape! The witty banter! The—"

"The part where we almost died?" Seren suggested.

"Especially that part!"

They made their way back to the Golden Griffin, taking a circuitous route in case of pursuit. Once safely in their suite, Avian poured drinks for everyone. Even Seren accepted hers without protest.

"So," she said after a fortifying sip, "we learned the Association has been faking having the Demon King's body for five entire centuries, they're working with someone in the Church, and the Elder is now personally invested in our deaths."

"Also that I need to practice catching falling historians," Avian added. "Sorry about the rough landing."

"I have bruises in new and creative places, but I'm alive." She pulled out her notebook, already organizing the information despite everything. "The Church connection is the most interesting part. Someone with significant divine authority is funding necromantic resea–."

A knock at the door interrupted her. They all froze.

"Room service!" a cheerful voice called.

"We didn't order room service," Kai whispered.

Avian approached the door carefully, Fargrim ready. He opened it to find a servant holding an envelope on a silver tray.

"Message for Lord Avian Veritas," the servant said. "Marked urgent."

Avian took the envelope, tipped the servant, and closed the door. The wax seal showed a skull wreathed in roses. The Elder's personal mark.

Inside was a single line in elegant script:

"The game has been delightful, but all amusements must end. You have three days before I collect you personally. Use them wisely."

"Well," Avian said, showing the others. "Fuck."

"The protagonist suggests we accelerate our plans!" Leontis said.

"What plans?" Seren asked. "We don't have plans! We have vague intentions and a drinking problem!"

"Then we better get specific intentions," Avian decided. "Because in three days, things are going to get very interesting."

Outside, the city slept on, unaware that ancient powers were converging. That five hundred years of secrets were about to collide in ways nobody could predict.

That a twelve-year-old body housing an ancient soul had just made things personal with someone who'd been taking things personally for half a millennium.

Should have kept my mouth shut. Should have just taken the information and run. But no, had to insult the ancient death mancer. Had to make it personal.

Fuck it. At least this way it'll be interesting.

He raised his glass in a toast to bad decisions and worse odds.

Three days to figure out how to survive the unsurvivable.

Good thing he'd had practice.